


First Orders

by K_dAzrael



Series: Savages!verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cadet Hux, M/M, Military Academy, Minor Character Death, Post-Imperial St Trinians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel, of sorts, to 'Savages'.</p><p>Tumblr demanded I <a href="http://kdazrael.tumblr.com/post/140084287137/the-erotic-adventures-of-young-brendol-hux-ii">write even more</a> about the adventures of Cadet Hux in the worst military academy in the Unknown Regions, so here he is - this time with his merry band of cronies. Involves murder and awkward teen boners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Orders

The siren is blaring outside his body and inside his body: Hux’s chest is raw and tight, his legs cramping up with lactic acid. Ahead of him, Knight runs with easy loping strides. _Stupid lanky git_ , he thinks.

Over the siren’s high, winding drone, Captain Riggs’ voice can be heard in the distance, his staccato yells like the barking of a dog, fading and then increasing in volume again as Hux gets closer to completing another lap. He picks up the pace for show as he approaches the captain’s position, ignores the burn and the feeling of light-headedness, the spots dancing at the edge of his vision, then he stumbles and hisses as the wind whips red dust into his eyes.

“You ok?” Knight asks, turning his head. He has barely broken a sweat and his long limbs move with effortless articulation. Hux thinks the bastard is half Gungan sometimes.

Hux squints out of one eye to give him a murderous glare. He does not have the breath to spare for a cutting witticism.

“NO TIME FOR CHATTING, LADIES!” Riggs bellows, face apoplectic beneath his peaked cap. His eyes have that tell-tale glassy look. _Perfect_ , Hux thinks – they barely have enough food rations to last through the storm, but the captain has his own personal supply of grog. He wonders how many of their portions were traded for it and makes a mental note to track down the stash. That kind of knowledge would open up a world of possibilities – bartering, blackmail, _revenge_.

When Hux and Knight draw level with the captain, Riggs calls out: “Well? Did you _hear_ me say stop?”

“The siren, sir,” Knight says.

“The siren does not dismiss you, _I_ dismiss you.”

“Dust’s coming in thick, sir,” Hux observes. “If we stay out here much longer we won’t be able to find our way back to the compound.”

Riggs stabs a finger at him. “Listen you cocky little upstart, I will be the judge of when we stay and when we go. Just for that you can both have three more laps.”

“Sir-” Hux protests, but Riggs cuts him off.

“It’s not _surrr_ ,” he mimics in an idiotic burr, “it’s _saaah_. Stars above, I thought your father was an officer, not some nerf-herding rimkin.”

Before Hux can respond, there comes the sound of a commotion further back: a yell and rapid exchange of voices raised in concern. Hux turns to see a knot of cadets gathered around two prone figures, one sprawled on the track, the other kneeling. He tries to make out who it is but he still only has one fully-operational eye. “The Berkals,” Knight says, still running in place, a hand to his brow.

Hux nods and shoots him a one-eyed confidential look. “Eli.”

Riggs swears and throws his hands up in the air as if trying to startle a flock of birds, but the cadets do not disperse. Eventually, Eli Berkal rises, his arm slung about the neck of his brother Est. They limp forward together, the other cadets surrounding them like a security detail. They don’t have to get much closer before the wheezing can be heard: Eli’s chest rattles and heaves with each exhale, then makes a sucking, squealing sound with each gulped-in breath. He sounds like a broken concertinium.

“Alright,” Riggs says. “I’m sick of looking at you pathetic grunts. Get back to your dorms and stay there until you hear the all clear.”

“What about Eli?” Est Berkal asks. “Can I take him to medbay?”

“No. He’ll be fine - he’s just putting it on for attention.”

“Please sir,” Est presses, “he needs medication.” Eli raises his head and nods in agreement, one hand splayed out over his chest.

“I said get to your dorms!” Riggs yells. “Go on, the lot of you.”

Hux glares at Riggs’s back as he strides off towards the compound. “Incompetent swine,” he mutters. He turns his head and meets Knight’s curious gaze, then jerks his chin in the direction of the hobbled brothers. Knight jogs off towards them, ducking underneath Eli’s trailing arm.

*~*~*

The dormitory used to sleep twelve, but Hux has selected and arranged its occupants to his liking, and now there are just eight of them. Hux and Knight have the bunks next to the window. Opposite them are Trulaw and Saff, then Cord and Yungkai, and the Berkals are nearest the door.

They are all people Hux considers either loyal to him or smart enough to know the value of staying on his good side. Trulaw is the son of some dissipated Core family who had him carted off to the academy on NEC-52 when they could no longer afford to keep him in the style to which they were accustomed. He has fair hair, polished manners, and wears a watchful, sardonic look. Hux does not generally like or trust the Core jetsam, but underneath Trulaw’s fine features there lurks an absolute hardness and indifference to his circumstances that Hux, frankly, finds impressive. Also, Trulaw is queer, and brash about it in a way that allures some people and frightens others. Hux considers him a valuable asset.

Saff is genial and easy-going, talkative but not loud; he has dark skin and large, earnest eyes. People trust him, and Hux finds that useful. Cord is strong and sullen, glowering in suspicion at a world he does not fully understand his place in; a blunt instrument, but occasionally also of use. Yungkai is bright and ambitious, but sufficiently cautious that Hux does not deem him a current threat.

Then there are the Berkals: fraternal twins, but still almost impossible to tell apart. Hux likes them because they are quiet and self-contained. They fascinate him, in a way, in their doubleness and their devotion. He wonders what it would be like to have complete trust in another person (a mistake, obviously, but doubtless an alluring one).

Hux lies on the top bunk and squints against the fierce backlight of his datapad in the dimness of the emergency power strip lighting. Trulaw, Saff, Cord, and Yungkai are playing sabacc, and have made a tent out of their scratchy old govath-wool blankets stretched over the space between their adjacent bunk frames. Their voices are low, punctuated by occasional laughter or a yelp of triumph or dispute.

Eli Berkal’s breathing is, if anything, worse. Est is talking to him in a helpless, whimpering tone that can hardly be a comfort.

Knight comes back into the room and stares at the Berkals, huddled together on the bottom bunk. Hux closes off his device. “Well?”

“They’ve diverted all the power to the atmos shield. Gelleher says they’re worried it won’t hold against the storm.”

“Great,” Hux says. “The next generation wiped out due to shoddy engineering. Did you try the doors?”

“Internal doors all open for this unit. External locked tight. Keypads off, comms off.”

Est lets out a wail of panic. “No, we have to get Eli to medbay. We have to!”

Trulaw and Yungkai stick their heads out through gaps in the blanket fort. “What’s going on?” Hux hears Saff ask from within.

“Lockdown,” Hux replies. “Est, take control of yourself. You can’t help your brother by making an unholy racket.” He bows his head and taps thoughtfully on the back of his datapad for a moment. “Well,” he sighs, “there’s no use railing against facts: the outer doors are six-inch-thick durasteel and there’s no way to even contact medbay, let alone get there. We’re on our own. Now, has your brother ever overcome an asthma attack by himself?”

“Yeah… yeah, but not one as severe as this. Sometimes it eases off and he… he can do exercises to stop from panicking.”

“Doesn’t he have any medication?”

“No, the inhaler ran out last week and the shipments haven’t been able to land because of the storms.”

“I think we’re all aware of the supply situation. Alright – so it’s going to have to be exercises, then. Sit him up and talk to him, help keep him calm. That’s all you can do, Berkal – be a man and accept it.”

Est wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “Yes, Hux,” he says, voice low and resigned.

Clearly judging the dramatic interlude to be over, Trulaw and Yungkai pull their heads back into the seclusion of their tent. They have the right idea, Hux thinks, shivering violently. He starts in alarm when a heavy blanket hits him in the solar plexus. “And what will _you_ do for warmth?” he asks Knight, peering at him over the edge of the frame.

“Bunk with you, general.”

“Just why would I agree to that?”

Knight opens his jacket and shows Hux a silver, rectangular packet.

“Who did you have to punch into submission for those?”

“No-one. My mother sent them, months ago.”

“I didn’t know you had a mother. I thought you just sort of popped into existence as some kind of galactic anomaly.”

Knight frowns in confusion. He is aware that Hux’s remark is not literally true, but cannot parse what it signifies. Hux sighs. “Alright, permission to come aboard granted.”

Knight smiles and tosses up the packet. He shrugs off his jacket and steps out of his boots, then clambers up onto Hux’s level. He perches on the end of the bed, legs swinging, and pulls Hux’s feet into his lap, shaking out the blanket and pulling it to cover them both. Hux opens up the packet and pulls out the little tray of crackers, setting them in a hollow in the blankets. The flakes of salt bite his tongue – it is so good Hux wants to groan in pleasure. Their rations contain enough sodium for them to survive, but actual _seasoning_ is a novelty.

“What were you keeping these for, anyway?”

Knight shrugs. “You never know.”

“What else have you got squirreled away?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” the tips of Knight’s ears redden.

“Oh no?”

“Just a few trinkets from home. Some holodiscs.”

Hux raised his eyebrows. “Holodiscs of what?”

“Lina sent me some messages.”

“Oh, your little girlfriend on NEC-41?” Hux shoves another cracker in his mouth and grins at Knight.

“She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we’ve talked about it maybe in the future, but it’s not practical right now.”

Hux rolls over onto his back and gives Knight’s ankle a kick. “Bantha fodder. She’s already got your entire lives together planned out. I bet she knows what each of your five ugly little brats will be called.”

“Lina only wants two children.”

Hux snorts, almost chokes on a crumb. Knight met this girl Lina at one of the awful annual ‘socials’ the commandant makes the elder boys attend. The preparation alone is torture: a month of scowls and trodden toes as the male cadets embrace one another in lieu of the women they will later ask to dance. The best Imperial academies were co-ed, Hux knows, and he cannot help but think this forced categorisation and separation is another mark of how far they have fallen. _We do not have time for civility_ , this arrangement seems to say, _for love, or even friendship: you don’t need to be people, only weapons for us to fling at the Republic_.

The evening of the affair itself, when the young men in their stiff dress whites ventured into a strange hall filled with their female counterparts, Hux had expected Knight to be awkward and silent, to keep to the peripheries with the rest of the maladjusted. However, Knight quickly scanned the room and immediately made a beeline for a tall, rather plain-looking brunette. The girl seemed surprised to be approached so immediately and directly – doubtless because she well knew her place in the hierarchy of beauty.

Hux had watched in astonishment as Knight bent down and uttered a few pleasantries that were seemingly well received, and then disappeared off into the crowd with the female cadet hanging on his arm. Hux didn’t see him for the rest of the night except in fleeting glimpses between the other dancing couples. He wonders now if that is Knight’s one true aptitude: knowing to whom he should pledge his service. 

It is good, he reflects. Perhaps Knight has somehow sensed that where Hux is going, he cannot follow. Hux can hardly begrudge him a life of his own, however tawdry and dull it may be. He sucks the crumbs off his fingers and reaches for the datapad again.

“What are you reading?” Knight asks.

“ _The Life and Times of Grand Admiral Thrawn_.”

“Again?”

“It’s not as if the datacard library offers much in the way of variety.”

“Will you read some to me?”

“Alright, but stars help you if you fall asleep and land on me.”

“I’ll move, then.” Knight rearranges the blankets and wriggles up the bed to lie alongside Hux. Their hips and broad shoulders prove to be a sticking point; the only way Knight can fit against him is by misalignment.

Hux props the datapad against Knight’s chest and clears his throat, leaning on one elbow. “‘Although the human species is undoubtedly superior to all others in its capacity for reason, ingenuity, and imposing order upon the lower lifeforms, from time to time a great servant of the Empire rises from unlikely stock. Such was Thrawn, whose native Chiss name we shall not trouble ourselves with in this present volume…’”

Hux reads on for a while until his throat begins to feel dry and his eyes heavy. Then he shuts off the device and tucks it between the edge of the mattress and the bedframe. He lowers his head onto the pillow and looks at Knight, who has his eyes closed and his arms folded across his concave stomach. He has freckles, but whereas Hux’s tend to form in clusters across his shoulders and down his forearms and thighs, Knight’s are scattered and eccentric. Hux can see some of them through his hair where the buzzcut carelessly cut too close to the scalp.

The only sounds in the room are the gameplay murmurs from within the tent; the continued rattle-whine of Eli Berkal’s breathing, now just another white noise like the hum of the air circulator.

“Are you asleep?” he murmurs.

“No.” Knight opens his eyes. This close Hux can make out his one fixed and dilated pupil from where a fourteen-year-old Hux, in a fit of temper during a technical drawing class, caught him square in the eye socket with a malfunctioning digi-calliper. Hux always thinks he wants to take his frustrations out on Knight until he actually does it and sees the animal look of hurt and confusion, the uncomplaining acceptance of a martyr. Hux proves nothing by it except his own lack of control; he resolves to be better.

“So, are you going to tell your girlfriend that you sometimes go to bed with men?”

“Don’t make it sound weird. Besides, she knows about you.”

Hux lets out a soft huff of amusement and wonder. He has no idea how Knight conceives of their relationship in his own mind: he’s almost afraid to ask. “What does she know about me?”

“That you look out for me. That we’re close.”

“What does she think about that?” A troubled expression crosses Knight’s brow, he swallows and Hux watches his throat bob. “Oh, she doesn’t approve, I take it?”

“She doesn’t _understand_ , that’s all.”

“Does she think I’m a bad influence on you?”

“She thinks you’re… unkind.”

“I _am_ unkind.”

“She doesn’t get what it’s like here, though – how you have to be. It’s different where she is – I mean, it’s not better, necessarily, but…” he trails off, frowning.

“I think women have different ways of being brutal to one another.”

“Maybe.” Knight sits up and shakes out the blankets, sending a shower of crumbs and packaging down onto the floor below. Hux supposes he will worry about that if any of them live to see another inspection. Knight turns on his side, his back to Hux, and Hux stares at the short hairs on the nape of his neck, how they form a little whorl like a musical notation. They are all of them like this, he supposes: a strange mix of ugliness and beauty; fragile youth and bitter experience.

Hux closes his eyes and thinks about the storm raging around and above them, sandblasting them and pelting them with rock. They are a little bubble of life; a pimple on the face of this lifeless planet. He hates having to cower from the elements like a brute beast and he vows that when he gets off this rock he will never return, and never again submit to being so helpless and exposed. He thinks of the Imperial-class destroyers that are still up there somewhere, powerful and looming; immune from the vagaries of climate and atmosphere.

He falls deeply asleep and does not dream. When he wakes it is like surfacing from beneath deep water, a blur of thought and sensation. He is aware that he is warm and pressed up against someone; a slim, male body that smells like musk and sleep. Hux’s dick is hard and the other man’s ass is pressed against his thighs, warm through two layers of cloth. Hux breathes in, eyelids fluttering, presses his lips against the supple skin of a long, pale neck. He feels a hand grip his.

“Hux?” says Knight’s voice.

Hux stiffens for a split-second, then scrambles backwards, bangs his head on the wall. “Agh, frak!” He stares down at Knight, who rolls onto his back and squints at him. Hux feels like he has committed whatever the opposite of incest is – some terrible, demeaning act between two wildly different and unequal beings.

“It’s ok,” Knight mumbles, rubbing his eyes, “I don’t mind or anything, I know it’s just—”

“Shut up!” Hux hisses. He stares about him: the room is silent, perfectly silent. Each of the bunks on the opposite side of the room is occupied, four familiar lumps rolled in blankets that Hux knows to be Trulaw, Saff, Cord, and Yungkai, respectively.

As his gaze sweeps over to the beds near the door he sees the moment that Est Berkal wakes and his brother Eli, waxen, slumped back in his arms, does not.

Hux only has time to let out a soft huff of “oh, _stars_ ” before the wailing starts up. Est seems to be wrestling with his brother, as if by agitating the corpse he can shake life back in it. The noises coming from his throat are inhuman; an expression of overwhelming and inchoate grief.

Trained by years of drills and sirens, the whole dormitory is soon awake and on the ground. They all watch Est scream, spittle gleaming on his teeth. Eli’s eyes are wide and sightless, his lips a cyanotic blue.

A low murmur begins outside, the occupants of other dorm rooms waking and wondering at the unholy racket. Hux touches Knight’s shoulder. “Go on. Tell them to stay the hell out of here – if I even catch sight of one of them, they’ll regret it.”

Knight nods, is gone like a thought impulse. 

“Est,” Hux says, moving closer. “Est, your brother is gone.” The ground judders beneath him and a siren starts up, lights flickering. For a moment Hux thinks this really is the end – of everything, of all of them – but no, that’s the main power coming back online, the exterior doors rumbling open.

Lockdown is over.

*~*~*

They take the white under-sheet from the bed and spread it out on the floor. The work of many hands makes lifting Eli easy. As they lay him out, Est kneels at his brother’s head and cups it in his hands, still sobbing and keening. Saff and Trulaw fold and tuck the fabric around the body in silent solemnity, not meeting one another’s eyes. Hux feels sure they have no experience winding corpses, but they look as if they do, as if this is their vocation.

“Don’t cover his face,” Est says, quiet and hoarse. These are the first coherent words he has managed to form since his grim discovery.

Knight is leaning against the door with his arms folded. They are all ignoring Riggs’ voice as it barks orders and threats through the metal.

“All of you little bastards are in for a world of trouble, let me tell you! When the commandant shows up here with the override codes he will not be pleased. You think this is the worst rock in the galaxy? Let me tell you, there are _salt mines_. There are _sarlacc pits_.”

“Maybe we should let him in,” Yungkai says. Hux can see in his eyes he is calculating possible damage control strategies. He doesn’t understand yet that Riggs is about to be removed from the hierarchy, from the whole equation.

Commandant Prell arrives and the doors hiss open. Knight steps aside, joins the other five where they stand at attention.

“Sweet mother of–” the commandant exclaims. “What happened here?”

“Sir,” Hux says. “Cadet Eli Berkal fell gravely ill yesterday before lockdown. He was denied access to medbay.”

“Denied access? By whom?”

“By order of Captain Riggs, sir.”

Riggs is ashen, clinging on to a bunk frame for support. He passes a hand over his face. “No, that’s not – he didn’t look ill. He was always wheezing and sickly-looking. How was I—”

“I begged you!” Est hisses from his position on the floor, absolute hate and despair etched across his features. “I begged you to let me take him!”

“Step outside, captain.”

Riggs protests, says he will not be slandered, will not have his word contradicted by a pack of lying children, but the commandant stays firm. “Step. Outside,” Prell repeats.

Riggs gives them all one last resentful look before he turns. Hux meets his gaze and feels his lip curling back in contempt.

*~*~*

“Well?” Hux asks. He is sitting cross-legged on the top bunk with his datapad in his lap. Grand Admiral Thrawn is reaching the end of his life of glorious service; the Empire will never again see his like.

“Suspension,” Knight says. The body has been removed, but Knight still skirts the spot on the floor where it lay before dropping down into a crouch, hands on his knees. Hux is gratified to see that he is out of breath. “There’s a supply shuttle coming in to land at oh-six-hundred. He’s going to take passage out.”

“Alright. We’ll have to work fast. I need you all to do exactly as I say, no second guesses or hesitations.”

“Work fast at what?” Saff asks, his expression troubled.

“Do any of you think it’s fair – a scumbag like Riggs just getting a free pass? You know what’ll happen. They won’t even fire him, they’ll transfer him to some other academy so he can frak up all over again. All you need for a teaching post out here is some dubious record under the Empire and a streak of sadism the size of an asteroid field.”

“So, what?” Yungkai asks, “we’re going to kill him?”

“Of course.”

“We can’t do that!” Saff yelps. “Listen, I’m sad about Eli, I liked him, but we can’t just take things into our own hands.”

“Yes we can.”

“Hux,” says Trulaw, gravely, “what you’re proposing is cold-blooded murder. I’m not saying I entirely disagree with the sentiment, but I think it _is_ worth pointing out.”

“I see it as more of a public service. All this dross they feed us about how great the old days were, how perfect.” Hux gestures to his still-illuminated datapad. “The Empire fell for a reason. It slipped through the fingers of men like _him_. We cannot look to their generation for guidance, or permission. We must correct their mistakes. It is up to us to bring sense and order to the chaos.”

“Well,” Trulaw sighs, rubs his cheek with a long pale finger. “I see you’ve made up your mind.”

Hux looks around the room – searching, as always, for the weak link. Trulaw wraps his arm around Saff’s shoulders; Saff looks up at him and nods in sad resignation. Cord’s eyes are bright with interest: the possibility of violence has invigorated him. Yungkai looks about himself and sees the mood has shifted. He knows he does not have the strength or craft to extricate himself, and how dangerous it would be to step outside this group and become its enemy. Knight is still crouching on one knee, attentive and awaiting orders. Berkal (there is no need for a forename; such clarifications are obsolete) rises to his feet. His grief has been replaced by a blank determination.

“Well then,” says Hux. “We all know that alcohol is highly flammable. Accidents do happen, especially to inveterate drunks who also happen to be heavy smokers.”

*~*~*

Knight finds Hux up on the dormitory roof, smoking a pilfered cigarra. A siren wails and an orange glow can be seen far across the compound.

“Feel better, general?”

“Mm.”

“Are you going to replace him – Eli, I mean?”

“Not immediately, though I have a shortlist in mind. Six is a good number, don’t you think? Manageable.”

Knight frowns, does a mental tally. “There are eight of us.”

“You and I don’t count, Knight. We’re a given.”

“Oh,” Knight takes a seat next to him on the edge of the air conditioning unit. The planet is just at that turning point between the scorching heat of day and arid cold of night where it passes briefly through a temperature range that is bearable for humans.

“Thank-you for your help today,” Hux says. Speaking the words is effortful, like he has to harrow them up from the very depths of his soul. Knight stares wildly at him, more startled than when he got smacked in the face with a piece of drafting equipment. The silence drags on, it is all very awkward. So awkward that it might erase the mortification Hux recalls from that morning.

“Well,” Knight says, slowly, dubiously, “you always know what’s best, don’t you?”

“I do,” Hux agrees. He drags on the cigarra and looks up at the sky. The stars reel and spin with his nicotine rush. _Soon, soon_ , he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> My primary enabler [kylostahp](http://kylostahp.tumblr.com) did some amazing headshots of the Cadet Hux Krew! [Just look at those babbus](http://kylostahp.tumblr.com/post/140728237017/so-uh-first-orders-amirite-anyway-heres-a).


End file.
